


Ashes, Poison, and Thorns: a fairytale

by allthebros



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Alternate Universe - Snow White Fusion, Curses, M/M, includes graphics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros
Summary: Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a prince called Patrick.





	Ashes, Poison, and Thorns: a fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> written/made for 2018 reel 1988 fest. This was only supposed to be a series on non-related graphics posted to tumblr, but then, it grew and grew and because this interconnected fairytale story. So I figured I might as well post them here too, so they can be read all together. 
> 
> Thanks a million times to sorrylatenew, as usual, who brainstormed and beta'd the story with me and cheerlead every step of the way and totally went above and beyond. Even for silly little things like these, you're indispensable <33
> 
> click [HERE](http://allthebros.tumblr.com/tagged/fairytale%20verse) to see the posts on tumblr (including some graphics that aren't shown here)
> 
> movies: cinderella, snow white, sleeping beauty

 

 

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Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there lived a prince called Patrick. The prince’s mother died in childbirth and his father, the king, remarried years later, but he, too, died not long after. One by one, Patrick’s sisters left the castle: Erica wed the king of a neighbouring kingdom, Jessica took vows as a priestess, and Jacqueline ran away the night their father died, leaving only her pet raven behind. This left Patrick alone in the castle with his stepmother, who would sit the throne in Patrick’s name until he came of age.

The Queen kept Patrick very busy, always at her side. She wished to teach him to rule, to ensure his readiness, but Patrick only felt watched and restrained. Caged. He ceased his hunting with members of the court, attended no parties or balls or dinners. The only person he could truly talk to other than his cold and distant stepmother or the old men of the council who told him what to do and how to think, was Jonathan.

Jonathan was a commoner. His hands were always dirty and there was soot on his clothes from where he slept near the chimney in the kitchens. Patrick didn’t mind. His father had always taught him that every one of their subjects mattered. Daily, during the period in which the Queen retired to her chambers before dinner, Patrick escaped to the gardens where Jonathan worked to talk to him. He was the only person Patrick could call a friend.

One day, a few months before Patrick’s coming-of-age and coronation, the Queen announced a great contest followed by a ball where everyone--courtiers, gentry, and commoners--was invited. The winner of the contest would be named the Queen’s Hunter. “And the King’s, of course,” she said with a small smile. “Once the prince assumes the throne.”

That afternoon, Prince Patrick ran to the gardens to find Jonathan. “You should come to the ball,” he said. “If you win, you’ll be allowed inside the palace, you’ll be in the Queen’s guard and… and mine, once I am King. You do know how to hunt, right?”

Jonathan did know and said he would be there. What he did not tell the prince was that he had no bow, no arrows that could rival those the other participants were sure to have. But what he did possess was a little bit of magic. 

He must always be careful not to use too much magic, but on the day of the contest Jonathan went to the kitchen gardens and found the largest pumpkin there. With a knife, he carved a bow in its side. Then, very gently, he plucked from the air a woolen thread with his thumb and finger and strung the bow he had carved. As soon as the thread was taut, the bow’s pumpkin body turned into polished wood, its curve and strength perfect. From the braided vines of the pumpkin, Jonathan fashioned three arrows. Once again, he pulled a thread out of the air and wrapped each braid with it. As soon as he was done, he held three perfect glass arrows in his hands.

At the ball, Jonathan lined up with all the other contestants, and, no matter the distance, his glass arrows always found their mark, never shattering, his bow as true and strong as his aim. 

“Whose arrows are these?” the Queen asked, holding them in her hands after the contest. They glinted in the sun. Jonathan took a step forward. From the dais where he sat beside his stepmother, Patrick beamed at him.

And so, Jonathan--a simple gardener and Prince Patrick’s only friend--no longer a commoner, became a Hunter, a prized member of the court.

 

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Jonathan became utterly devoted to the Queen--steadfastly by her side, eager for any task she set out for him. He barely spoke to Patrick anymore, so Patrick spoke to Jacqueline’s raven instead. People whispered the prince was lonely, that he needed a consort.

One evening, the Queen called Jonathan to her chambers. She stroked his face and murmured of her plans in his ear. “Take the prince into the woods. Kill him, and bring me back his heart.” 

Jonathan’s invitation to join him on a night hunt surprised Patrick, but he accepted, excited to spend time with his old friend. Deep into the woods they walked, until a clearing opened before them. In the middle stood a modest wood house surrounded by seven apple trees. 

Jonathan bid him to wait, and Patrick, more curious than afraid, watched him pull threads from the air, twisting them together until a long chain wrapped around the seven trees. When the ends of the chain touched, it glowed bright like sunlight into the darkness and then faded, only a shimmer in the air to show it was there.

Only then did Jonathan tell Patrick everything. “I am not a gardener,” he said. “I am a guardian.” Jonathan’s family had been guarding an ancient spinning wheel, a source of great magic, for generations. They had done so until a sorceress cast a sleeping curse on their land and seized the magic and power of the wheel for herself. Jonathan had escaped the curse and was seeking a way to break it. Only a family member could use the silver shears to sever the thread, but if he set foot on his family’s land again, he would fall under the spell immediately and all would be lost. 

The sorceress was the Queen and Patrick’s stepmother. “She wants you dead,” he said.

Patrick had suspected as much. Not of the magic but of her intentions to kill him and seize the throne for herself. He had been communicating with his sisters through Jacqueline’s raven, mobilizing both knights and magic in case of a coup.

“Stay here,” Jonathan said. “She cannot find you here, I’ve made sure of it.” So Jonathan travelled back to the castle and gave the Queen a deer’s heart in lieu of Patrick’s. He kept close, looked for ways to break the curse, to free his family and defeat the Queen. As often as he could, he visited Patrick.

They fell in love.

Weeks passed. The people of the kingdom believed the prince had run away like his sister, but in private, the Queen grew suspicious. One morning, she saw Jonathan with Patrick’s raven through her magical mirror. Then, the raven flew. She followed.

When she found the clearing, she knew immediately what had transpired. She recognized Jonathan’s work, the thin threads he’d used, small pieces of the thick, powerful one tied to the middle finger of her left hand, and only visible to her. She could not cross the protection circle he had cast to hide Patrick from her magic, but there were other ways to get what she wanted.

She tricked Patrick. She transformed herself into Jonathan and called out to him, then, from outside the circle, playfully threw an apple to him, one from the trees that protected him. Patrick bit into it and crumpled to the ground, poisoned. 

The Queen waited for Jonathan. Seeing Patrick’s body on the ground, Jonathan cried out, but before he could reach him the Queen stopped him. “I cannot kill you,” she said, “or the wheel’s magic will be lost to me, but I can send you back home to your dear mother and father. Sleep well, little Guardian.” She tugged hard on a thread and Jonathan was wrenched back, dragged through the air and into his own chambers, in his family’s home.

Before the curse could take him over, he pulled a thread of his own and then fell asleep with one word upon his lips. “Patrick.”

 

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Patrick felt the lodged piece of apple being pulled from his throat. He coughed, took a deep breath, and slept.

When he woke, he was in the little house, on his bed. Beside him sat two of his sisters, Jessica and Jacqueline. They cried and embraced, happy to be alive and reunited, and Patrick listened to their tales.

Weeks ago, Jacqueline had set out from the mountains where dwarves dwell to return to the kingdom as Patrick had asked her. With her, she brought the weapons he’d requested. She joined Jessica at the temple and together they waited for his signal. It was Jonathan who had messaged them first, who told them to join them here. He’d been nervous and worried, certain they couldn’t wait any longer. But when the sisters arrived, all they found was Patrick, unconscious on the ground with a black apple beside him, and neither of them knew where Jonathan was. “He saved me,” Patrick said, certain of it.

“She thinks you dead,” Jacqueline said. “She won’t be looking.”

Together, the siblings rode East to their sister Erica’s kingdom. There, she was waiting, ready to bring war to the kingdom if she must, to give her brother his throne. “She will not have our father’s kingdom. Your kingdom,” she said.

It would be futile, Patrick told them, if they didn’t break the curse first, the one their stepmother had cast over Jonathan’s family. Only one of them could cut the magic thread that fed her power. Patrick knew the curse would not afflict him. “Do you have the sword?” he asked Jacqueline. She gave it to him. A great sword forged by the dwarves at the heart of the mountain, practically indestructible and even more so when Jessica called on the gods to bless it, and made it impervious to magic. Patrick donned his armour, told his sisters to wait for him, and left.

Jonathan’s lands were exactly where he had said they would be, and so was the thick wall of thorns engulfing the great house he had mentioned. Such cursed thorns would be imprenetable for any knight, but Patrick had his sword. He sliced his way into the yard, then into the house where everyone slept, dressed in their finest. They had been celebrating the summer solstice, the one time in the year during which the whole family gathered in a single place. Except for Jonathan, who had left after a fight with his father.

Patrick searched the house and, to his shock, found Jonathan. He dropped his sword and ran to his side. He yelled. He shook and slapped and punched, but nothing could wake Jonathan. Finally, he lay him back onto his bed, bent over him, and kissed his mouth softly as if saying goodbye. 

Jonathan woke with a gasp. Patrick embraced him, but they soon realized that Jonathan was the only one to wake. The curse was not broken. “But I can cut the thread,” Jonathan said.

Then, a loud cry pierced the air and a shadow fell over the house. Patrick ran to the window and saw… a dragon. “It’s her,” he said.

Into the yard he ran to hold her back, to give Jonathan time. He fought bravely, slicing the beast’s great talons with his blessed sword, blocking its fire with his shield. As for Jonathan, he raced through the house, down into the basement, the tunnel, the chamber where the wheel lay, spinning magic, the needle on the spindle glinting.

Jonathan grabbed the silver shears, pricked his finger on the spindle and rubbed his blood over the blades, then, without hesitation, he cut the thread.

Stories will be told of that battle. Of the prince who fought a dragon, killed a sorceress, and woke his love from a magical sleep. Of the guardian who loved him, right from the start, who saved the prince’s life, who became his consort. And, most of all, of how they lived happily ever after.

 

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End file.
